


In Merry Measure

by rufeepeach



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas AU, F/M, Merlin - Freeform, santa au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-08 00:04:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5475515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rufeepeach/pseuds/rufeepeach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the holidays roll around in Storybrooke and Belle finds herself growing homesick, she sets up a Santa’s Grotto in the Library as a distraction. When Christmas Eve rolls around and her Santa bails, someone else has to fill that red coat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Merry Measure

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a-desperate-melodiful-soul on Tumblr for the Rumbelle Secret Santa 2015. The prompt was 'She couldn't believe it' - I figured Gold in a Santa suit was pretty unbelievable

Mr Gold hated Christmas.

He prided himself on it, in fact: he hated the bright lights, he hated the music, and he hated the implicit command to be cheery.

This was mostly because his ex-wife had left him on Christmas Eve, and his son had his own family now and always celebrated with his wife’s foster mother and sisters. He couldn’t blame him: Ingrid and her daughters had a deep love for the season. Gold had seen pictures on Facebook of a beautiful home in the woods bedecked with tinsel, snowflakes and baubles, and a huge fir tree covered in lights. 

It was exactly the place you’d want to bring your small son at Christmas, and he didn’t blame them. He and his son weren’t all that close, and he was a lonely old man who rarely even bothered with a tree.

He got a card and perhaps a small gift, a phone call on the day itself, and for the rest Gold had scotch and bad memories. Those traditions were more than enough for him, and they covered all of one day out of the year, which was a blessing.

It was unfortunate that Storybrooke, Gold’s hometown and the centre of his business, took the holidays far too seriously.

The moment Thanksgiving was over, it seemed the whole town decided to bedeck itself in gaudy lights and inflatables. And every year, Mr Gold managed to block this knowledge from his mind until it was shoved right back in his face.

“Bah, humbug,” he muttered. Then he wondered how easy it would be to slip a clause into every rental agreement he was party to banning all excessive displays of holiday cheer. “Your electricity bills will be astronomical,” he added, grumbling, as he continued down Main Street. “The whole town will be underwater in ten years.”

So busy was he embodying every villain of every old Christmas movie ever, that Gold didn’t notice the small figure in front of him until it was too late. “Oof! Do you mind?” he snapped.

Gold stepped back, having apparently knocked the wind from the other person’s lungs, and then did a double take.

“So did Santa finally emancipate the lot of you?” He raised an eyebrow at Belle French, who was busy brushing down the front of her ridiculous, tiny, clashing red and green velvet dress and straightening her hat. She’d dropped her bag when they collided, and he saw gumdrops leaking from the edge. She knelt to collect them, her hands shaking from the cold, and he saw the top of her head. Her hat had a bell on the end of it. It jingled when she moved.

“I… oh!” she laughed as she looked up at him, and Gold was lost, as he always was when he had the pleasure of looking at the tiny librarian. She had dimples, bright blue eyes, and an infectious smile. And she was dressed as a Christmas elf. “Yes, he freed us only last month, but some of us still choose to work. It’s cold out there in the winter. We have to eat, you know.”

Gold paused for a moment, surprised into laughter at her ridiculous reply. She’d answered his quip with one of her own. And, thinking back, Gold could not think of a single time since she’d moved here that she’d done anything else. The library was one of his rare pleasures in this town, well stocked with classical literature and ripping murder mysteries, and with an expanding legal non-fiction section. But it was the librarian who was a true joy to behold. Belle was beautiful, joyously intellectual, and had a kindness that ran deep and true, shining from her like a beacon.

They’d never had more than a brief conversation over a borrowed book or two, a recommendation and a comment, a brief quip exchanged over mutual laughter. She had an odd sense of humour, dark and sarcastic without ever becoming unkind, and it complimented his own.

And now, she stood before him without the desk between them, dressed as an elf . It was not a scenario Gold ever could have imagined.

“I assume you’re employed to do this, Miss French,” he said, to hide his staring. “Otherwise this is a very odd habit.”

“We’re having a Santa’s Grotto at the Library,” she explained, still showing off those remarkable, distracting dimples. “It’s fun!”

“It’s insane,” he muttered, but she just rolled her eyes.

“One day,” she said, “you’re going to be visited by three ghosts in the night, and then you’ll change your tune.”

“Maybe,” he shrugged, still trying not to stare at her. Maybe it was her cheeks, flushed from the cold, or her bright eyes, or the unbelievable shortness of her skirt, but something about Belle French dressed as an elf made it impossible for him to look away. “But I think it more likely that the universe doesn’t care about my views on a religious holiday co-opted to sell greetings cards and a notion of ‘cheer’.”

“You’re arguing about the significance of the holiday season with a woman dressed as an elf?” she raised an eyebrow, and Gold had to concede: she made a good point. “I have to get back to the library, but you should stop by some time!” She all but twinkled at him, merry and bright as any Christmas card and with twice as much joy. “It might warm even your cold, Christmas-hating heart.”

He curled his lip at her, but she just laughed, and scampered off back to work, humming ‘You’re A Mean One, Mr Grinch’ under her breath. He watched her leave with his breath caught in his throat, and that same cold heart hammering in his chest.

\---

Belle had never known how cold the holidays could be until she moved to Maine.

Being from Australia, Christmas to Belle meant a barbecue at the beach. The whole white Christmas ideal had always existed in the abstract. When she’d moved to Maine, she’d imagined gleaming white forests, crisp snow on the streets and skies full of stars at Christmas.

So far, she was disappointed: the sky was as grey as ever, wet and cold and bleak, and while the town was covering itself in twinkling lights and decorations, it seemed a poor consolation prize. The sun set at four in the afternoon. It was dark when she opened the library in the morning, and dark again when she closed up in the evening. 

Alone, cold, and a long way from home, Belle had felt her bravery and her stubborn optimism begin to dwindle.

That was when inspiration had struck: if she couldn’t have the Christmas she wanted outside, she’d bring it inside instead.

She smiled as she entered the library, and looked at her handiwork with satisfaction. The whole place looked like Santa had exploded: every inch covered in tinsel and lights, every overhanging surface bearing baubles and decorations. Fake felt snow covered the floor, and a giant Christmas tree stood in the centre of the foyer in front of the desk. She’d hung decorated sheets over the doors and the awnings so they looked like a snowy log cabin, and wrapped all the surplus and unwanted books in bright, shiny paper for Santa to give to the children who came through.

It was a winter wonderland. And with the heat blasting from every radiator and the few space heaters Belle had procured from around town, it was also wonderfully warm.

“Look, kids!” Elijah Merlin, the only man in town who’d volunteered for the Santa role, called from his throne in the far corner. “My elf is back!”

“I am, Santa,” she replied, grinning to the children, “And I got the candy you asked for,” she said. “Anyone want some?”

She reached into her bag, and brought out one of the five bags of candy she’d bought from the drug store. The kids in line flocked over, hands outstretched, and she made sure to give each one sweet, and one sweet only. No parent would bring their child back to the library in January if it was the source of a sugar-crash, after all.

She handed the rest of the sweets to Elijah, and went back to standing behind the counter, admiring the tree. There was no need for her to corral the children over by the grotto – Elijah was amazing with kids, and almost all of them had parents with them anyway – and this was still a functioning library, for all its librarian was dressed as a Christmas elf.

She’d only had to run out because they’d run out of candy, it having been a few days since she’d bought some. As they got closer to Christmas more and more families were coming in to see Santa. Belle was glad there was such a great surplus of books that were either never going to be checked out, too old, or they had more than one copy of which she could give out as gifts. 

“Did he really say ‘bah humbug’?” she wondered aloud, thinking back to her odd conversation with Mr Gold out on the street. Mr Gold was one of the few Storybrooke fixtures Belle really liked, not that she thought he’d ever believe her if she said as much. He was a quiet man, taciturn and with a sharp tongue, but where everyone else seemed to assume he was malicious, Belle thought she saw something else behind his eyes. Sadness, loneliness, something deeper and darker than the cruelty he was known for. 

He’d come in any number of times, and she’d found herself watching him, wondering about him. They'd chatted a little, and he'd revealed a sharp sense of humour to match his intellect, and a warm smile, however rare they were to see. He was a mystery, in a town where everyone seemed intent on being as simple and open as possible, and Belle liked mysteries.

But despite her liking for him, and the intrigue he suggested, Belle couldn’t resist the comparison to Scrooge. By all accounts Gold lived alone, and she couldn’t imagine him ever decorating his home or making merry with friends and family. She didn’t even know if he had any family.

And Belle, whose father hadn’t spoken to her since she’d announced her intention to move to the States; whose mother had died when she was small; and who had made few true, close friends in the past six months, could relate to that.

She wondered if he’d take up her invitation, and come visit sometime over the holidays. She wondered what she’d do if he did.

\---

“Come on, Gold,” the Mother Superior chided, “it’s Christmas!”

“It's December 23rd, dearie," he said. "If I'm not advertising your Christmas Eve event now, then it's hard to see why I'd change my mind. This is also my place of work,” Gold retorted. “I will not be advertising your services here, and if you put flyers anywhere on my property I will have you charged with vandalism.”

“Selfish, mean, nasty old…”

“What was that?” Gold interrupted the nun’s muttering with a nasty smile. “I’d be careful, dearie,” he snarled, “Your rent’s due in a week, and it’d be a shame for the nuns to have nowhere to stay in the new year.”

“You’d throw us out for asking for a small charitable offering?” The Mother Superior asked, and Gold's smile was thin and cruel.

“I’d just remind you of your priorities,” he replied. “And what you’re asking for is not charity, it’s conversion.”

“You’re advertising for the library’s Christmas events!” the Mother Superior pointed out, acidly, pointing to the modest blue flyer taped to his front window. “And Miss French’s… display has nothing to do with the true season whatsoever. Surely even you have a little room for God on your door.”

“Miss French isn’t charging,” Gold replied. “Any donations the library does gather will run into resupplying the children’s section. She showed me her plans herself.”

He smiled to himself, remembering the day before when the librarian – still in her elf costume, which seemed to have become her uniform – had popped into his shop all bright eyed and bushy tailed, clutching her flyer in her hand. He’d been trying to think of an excuse to go to the library since she’d mentioned it. He was morbidly curious about what Christmastime hellhole such a bright young woman could create when given license. But three days had passed since he’d run into her, and his feet hadn’t once crossed her threshold.

Belle had only had to ask him once, after she explained her purpose and the nature of her work. He had a clear policy against advertising anyone’s business but his own, but he’d found himself nodding, and finding some tack to stick it where everyone walking by would see it.

It was the dimples, he thought bleakly: they’d gotten to him good and proper. That, and the fact that Gold knew his grandson loved to read, and had had a moment of insanity where he’d thought a good library might tempt his absent little family back into town.

“Her children’s section is a disgrace,” the Mother Superior said. “A den of the occult.”

“Harry Potter is hardly occult. I can show you far worse in the back if you’d like.”

“Not to mention the rampant multiculturalism,” the Mother Superior sniffed, as if he hadn’t spoken. “It’s vulgar.”

“Well, as you’ve noted many times before, so am I,” Gold shrugged. “Please take your petty insults somewhere else.”

“At least decorate your store front,” she snapped. He shook his head.

“Unlike some, dearie, I have better things to do with my time and money than cover my buildings in obnoxious lights. Doesn’t the Good Book have some interesting things to say about idolatry?”

“One always hears scripture distorted by the devil,” the nun spat at him. He bared his teeth at her in a nasty smile.

“I’d leave now, dearie, before this devil feels like digging through your rental agreement.”

The Mother Superior made an indignant noise through her nose, but she marched out without another word. “Merry Christmas!” he called after her as she slammed the door, and snickered to himself.

Every year, the nuns tried to advertise their Christmas events all over town. And every year, Gold told them where they could stick it. Nothing the nuns in this town did came without a hefty price, usually a combination of guilt and a generous donation to the convent’s coffers. And Gold especially disliked the moralistic, judgemental, gossipy attitude of their diminutive leader.

The whole encounter left a bad taste in his mouth, and he wondered if today was the day to take a real lunch break and go around the corner. The library was only a five-minute walk: he could nip in, take a look, and be out before the pretty elf even caught a glimpse of him.

Two hours later saw him attempting exactly that, grimacing as he noted the tinsel stapled around the door. It was at least warm inside, he noted, as he crossed into the main foyer. The warmth almost made up for the aggressive, haphazard Christmas spirit.

Nothing matched, he thought bemusedly: nothing matched at all. It was as if every ornament was dead set on clashing with every other decoration, and it all came together in a glorious, well-meaning, chaotic mess.

Much like, he thought, the woman herself.

“Mr Gold!” he heard her distinctive alto cry before he’d even stepped through the door, and knew his plan was foiled. She was all but bouncing in her ridiculous curly shoes. “Did you come to meet Santa?” she teased. He approached her desk, and shook his head.

“I, ah,” he scrambled for an excuse, wishing all of a sudden that he’d brought a book to donate or something similar and coming up empty. He thought on his feet. “I came to warn you, as a matter of fact.”

“Warn me?” she frowned, “About what?”

“The Mother Superior of the local convent disapproves of your efforts,” he told her, as if it meant anything at all. “She’s a nasty little thing, I’d be careful.”

“Well, that doesn’t surprise me,” Belle snorted through her nose. “She came in here about an hour ago, I told her I’d hand out her flyers. I… she sounded so sweet, but I just got an odd feeling, you know?”

“You’re taking my word against the nun’s?” Gold frowned. “She called me the devil earlier, and she wasn’t far wrong.”

Belle laughed openly at that, and Gold couldn’t help but smile at the sound. She was so beautiful, and when she laughed it warmed him more than even the radiators and heaters she had blasting out at full strength.

“She asked me to move the kids’ Christmas books,” she told him. “Kindly, of course. She asked that I put them in their own section, away from the others. As if Rudolph the Reindeer can’t sit happily next to Harry Potter.”

“It’s a small town,” Mr Gold pointed out. “And the Mother Superior has some strong feelings.”

“I would have thought the massive Christmas tree would have persuaded her,” Belle sighed. Gold shook his head.

“Christmas is her holiday,” Gold told her. “You’re competition. And you’re giving out presents and sweets, while all she’s offering is a draughty church and perpetual guilt.”

“She was good at the guilt,” Belle murmured. “I... she did say something strange, though,” she said, and Gold wondered why Belle looked uncomfortable.

“What?”

“She wanted to know how I’d convinced you to put a flyer in your window. Apparently you don’t usually go in for that sort of thing?”

“You’re pissing off the nuns,” Gold shrugged, as if her dimples and shining blue eyes had nothing to do with it. “I support that if nothing else.”

“I thought it was odd,” she agreed, smiling a little slyly. “After all, you’re the town Scrooge, right?”

He smiled a little at that, and inclined his head. “You were the one who told me I’d be visited by three ghosts.” He didn’t add that if they all looked like her, he’d convert to the Christmas spirit in a moment.

“Well, I’d heard you mutter ‘bah humbug’ just a moment earlier,” she agreed. “I didn’t think people really hated the holidays that much.”

“Is that why you did all this?” he asked, gesturing around at her Christmas explosion, fake snow and all. She shook her head.

“To convert the unwilling?” she asked, “I think the Mother Superior has that front covered.”

“Then why?”

“I…” she pressed her lips together, and shook her head. “It’s cold outside,” she shrugged, and brushed off whatever answer she’d thought of and disregarded. “Come on, I bet you want to meet Santa!”

“I’m quite alright, dearie,” he shook his head. “I’m pretty sure I’m safely on any Santa’s bad list.”

“At least come for a drink with us tonight,” she begged. “Please? I know so few people around here, and it'd be nice to be able to convince you I'm not a lunatic just because I'm dressed as an elf.”

“Why are you dressed as an elf?” he asked, taking the opportunity to run his eyes over her, from the top of her belled hat to her curly shoes, and all the interesting places in between. Her skirt was still miniscule; her velvet bodice hugged her small frame. Gold swallowed, and hoped he wasn’t developing some deviant fetish that would land him squarely in hell.

“Elijah wouldn’t dress as Santa unless I joined in,” she huffed, rolling her eyes. “Said it was all or nothing.”

“Dr Merlin agreed to join in on this little caper?” Gold asked, surprised. Elijah Merlin was one of the few men in town who had actually earned Gold’s respect, mostly due to the innate decency the man exuded and his impeccable standard of work. Gold had also, it seemed incorrectly, believed the man to be outside of the town’s nonsense, including its obsession with this ridiculous holiday. But then he’d thought the same of Belle, until a few days ago.

“He said his brother could hold down the pharmacy in the afternoons for a few weeks, and volunteered,” Belle grinned, all but bouncing on the balls of her feet. Gold’s heart sank: Dr Merlin was recently single, young, and attractive. Gold knew he measured poorly against the sort of kindly, handsome young man who cured sick people and volunteered with children over the holidays, and Belle was clearly smitten.

“How generous of him,” Gold tried to smile, but found himself snarling instead.

“He’s a good guy,” Belle agreed. “And you need a night out. We’re going to the Rabbit Hole for a Christmas drink tonight, the three of us. If you want, you can spend the whole night complaining about how much you hate the holidays – I guarantee Elijah will back you up. It’s December 23rd, you have to accept Christmas is happening at some point.”

It would be sheer masochism to say yes, Gold knew, and agree to chaperone a date between one of the few men he didn’t hate in town and the woman he was trying not to moon over. The two younger people would spend the evening talking and flirting and growing closer, and he’d be sat there drowning his sorrows, forced to watch.

And yet, once again, Belle smiled with those dimples and Gold was lost. “Alright,” he muttered. “One drink.”

“Great!” Belle beamed like he’d given her the moon, and nodded, “Eight o’clock, we’ll see you there!”

Gold inclined his head, and left without another word. He didn’t stop shaking until he was at his shop, safe in his own back room, and could sit and wonder what the hell he was thinking.

He wasn’t thinking: that was the problem. The moment she smiled, thought became impossible.

“Bloody wonderful,” he muttered, and buried his head in his hands. It would be a long night.

\---

“And what do you want for Christmas?” Elijah smiled at the boy on his knee, and Belle watched as Roland Locksley clapped his hands and thought hard.

“I waaaant… a big monkey!” he revealed, and Elijah opened his mouth as if utterly surprised. “And a bow and arrow and a slingshot and a cape!”

“Quite the little superhero we have here,” Elijah grinned. Mayor Mills nodded indulgently at her stepson.

“His favourite movie is Robin Hood,” she confided, “Isn’t it Roland?”

“I’m gonna shoot baddies!”

“Is the monkey going to be your sidekick then?” Elijah asked, and Roland nodded very seriously.

“I’mma call him Little John,” Roland informed him. “Can you get him for me, can you?”

Roland stared up at Santa expectantly and, as always, Elijah glanced at the parents. Regina and Robin nodded, and Elijah grinned. “I think we can manage that,” he told Roland. “But you have to be very good for your mum and dad, okay? No staying up past bedtime or robbing any carriages.”

The child nodded, smiling ear-to-ear, and Belle marvelled once again at how adorable that child was. She wondered how anyone could look at Roland and not give him anything he asked for – although, seeing how his father and stepmother were looking at him, she thought it was a moot point.

“Until then...” Elijah grinned, and reached into the novelty red velvet sack Belle had found at a costume store, filled with surplus books wrapped in shiny gold paper. “Here’s a gift from the North Pole. Don’t open it until Christmas though, alright?”

“Thank you Santa!” Roland chirped, and then threw his arms around Elijah’s neck, hugging him tight. He whispered something Belle couldn’t hear in Elijah’s ear. Elijah nodded seriously as Roland pulled away, and slid off his lap, back to hold his father’s hand.

The Locksley/Mills family were the last of the day, and Belle sighed with satisfaction as she closed the door, and turned the sign to ‘closed’. She turned to Elijah, and was relieved to see he’d taken off the ridiculous beard that turned him from the earnest town pharmacist into Santa Claus. “This thing itches like no one’s business,” he complained, setting it aside and stretching on his throne. “Next year, we avoid Merriweather Costumes at all costs.”

Elijah stood, and took off the heavy Santa coat, sighing with relief to have the thick garment gone. He suddenly looked nothing like the real thing at all without the padding, and Belle wondered at how willing the children of Storybrooke were to believe such a bald-faced lie. But then, Elijah had old eyes, and a calming, reassuring voice. The elements of Santa were there, even if he was really a twenty-seven year old African-British pharmacist

“Noted,” Belle grinned. “What did Roland say to you?”

“He, ah,” Elijah frowned, and rubbed his face with his hand. “He asked me to make sure his mom had a good Christmas too.”

“Oh,” Belle murmured, remembering Roland’s mother Marion, and her recent separation from Roland’s father. She was rooming with Ruby Lucas now, from what Belle heard, at Granny’s Inn. This couldn’t be an easy Christmas for her, with her son living with his new stepmother and his father, and Marion out in the cold.

“I might have a word with Granny about making sure she’s in on her family’s Christmas,” Elijah continued. “She’s invited me and Michael, after all. You’re invited too, if you want?” he said. “She said to ask you.”

“I’m… I’ll think about it,” Belle nodded, thankful for the offer. The idea of spending Christmas alone was daunting, and she’d been considering volunteering at the convent’s soup kitchen before the Mother Superior had shown up today. Now that idea had far less appeal. “Oh, speaking of people alone at Christmas, I invited Mr Gold to come for a drink tonight.”

“You asked Mr Gold out?” Elijah raised an eyebrow, “And here I thought I was imagining things.”

“He’s not half as bad as everyone claims,” Belle said a little defensively. She shoved an armful of discarded wrapping paper into a rubbish bag and setting to work clearing up the empty candy wrappers from the floor. “And it’s not a date.”

“Firstly, I never said anything against him,” Elijah held up a hand as he helped her collect the wrappers. “And second, it’s definitely a date. You sure you don’t want me to just be sick? I can take Michael to the movies instead.”

“You need a night out as much as he does,” Belle insisted. “And you might be one of the few people in town who doesn’t have this absurd hatred of him. You’re coming.”

“You want a chaperone.”

“I want to make real friends,” Belle insisted. “Or do you want me miserable and lonely and cold so far from my native land?”

“Hey, I’m a long way from my native land too!” Elijah protested. Belle scoffed.

“London is as cold as Maine, and you know it,” she replied. “And you have the whole town in love with you. Gold has…”

“You,” Elijah finished, with a grin. Belle rolled her eyes.

“I barely know him,” she said. Elijah looked her in the eye, deadpan and unimpressed.

“You’ve had a crush on him since you first saw him, and you know it. And that was far longer ago than just three days,” he replied, his eyes twinkling. For a moment, Belle could understand why he had every girl in town halfway in love with him: he really was incredibly good looking. 

But, unfortunately, he was also right. Her type seemed to be slight, older, Scottish men with sharp tongues and sharper suits. It was ridiculous.

“He’s interesting,” Belle defended, trying to sound thoughtful rather than defensive or caught out. “And he’s one of us: an expat, all alone. And he’s so interesting – every time we talk he tells me something I didn’t know, he’s read so many of the books we have already and-“

“Wow, you’re really head over heels,” Elijah murmured, his eyes wide, and Belle blushed to her roots.  “Don’t lie to me, French!” he laughed, “What happened to solidarity? The single and the recently dumped, standing together?”

“Oh, Elijah,” Belle murmured. Sympathy welled in her: she knew him well enough to know a even casual, joking mention of his ex wife Naomi meant trouble. She crossed the room to him and took his cool hand in hers, trying to give a reassuring smile. “You’re the most objectively attractive man in Maine, I promise you you won’t be alone long.”

“Belle French, are you hitting on me?”

She wrenched her hand out of his and smacked him with it with a little laugh, “Pervert!”

“Well, if you’re so insistent that you’re not into Mr Gold…”

“You need to shut your mouth,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. 

“And here I thought I was objectively so attractive.”

“Let’s just go,” she shook her head, and led him out of the now-tidy library. He snickered and followed, closing the door behind him for Belle to lock.

Granny's was packed, so Belle didn't find the time to change before they were due to go out. She decided just to keep her coat on, and hope no one noticed the elf costume beneath. They reached the bar five minutes before Belle had told Gold to meet them, and there was no sign of him. 

Twenty minutes passed, then thirty, then an hour. Belle, knocking back gin and tonics like there was no tomorrow, had to admit after her fourth that she was both nervous that Gold might actually show, and disappointed that he hadn’t so far. 

“Fine,” she cried, looking at Elijah, who had raised an eyebrow at her. “I like him, he’s smart and handsome and weird but in a good way. But he clearly doesn’t like me, since he didn’t show up tonight, so whatever.” Her heart was sinking in her chest, a lump forming in her throat. She'd been so looking forward to seeing him out of work, to getting to know him a little, and his outright rejection of her - without even a word! - stung.

“Or he didn’t show up because you’re gorgeous and sweet and he’s the town asshole?” Elijah suggested. He reached over and took her hand, and Belle tried to draw some solace from the weight of his palm over hers. “I mean, think about it, Belle. The invite came out of nowhere, he doesn’t know me, and he’s not good at the social stuff. Maybe he was just scared?”

“When’d you get so perceptive?” Belle demanded, finishing her drink. Elijah shrugged.

“Why do you think he hides all the time?” he asked. Belle thought.

“Because he hates people? Including me?” Belle slurred. Elijah shook his head.

“People who hate people are usually afraid of being hurt by them,” Elijah said. “I’d bet you twenty dollars he didn’t show tonight because he was afraid, not because he doesn’t like you.”

“Fine,” she nodded, “Twenty dollars. Easy money.”

She looked up, gazing around the bar for another topic of conversation, and spotted a friend coming in through the door. “Hey!” she called, waving, “Hey, Jefferson, over here!”

Jefferson’s eyes lit up when he saw them, and he wove his way through the crowd to slide into the booth next to Belle. “Hey,” he grinned, and then looked at the amassed glasses on the table before her. “Someone had a rough day.”

“She got stood up,” Elijah supplied. Belle nodded, morosely. “We’ve got a bet going,” Elijah continued, “I think he stood her up because he’s scared, she thinks she’s just unlovable.”

“Awww, Belle,” Jefferson cooed, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Did you show him your books? I’d run screaming if I saw all those books for the first time.”

“Shut up,” she elbowed him in the ribs but he just laughed at her. “You have an in-house hat studio, you don’t get to talk.”

“Oh, do you own the hat shop on Maple?” Elijah asked, and Jefferson grinned and inclined his head.

“It’s a boutique,” he clarified. “Since it’s all mine I can sell whatever I like. So it’s mostly haberdashery, some independent clothing, and a certain amount of artisan crafts.”

“That sounds interesting,” Elijah said. “And a lot more fun than dispensing medicines all day.”

Belle giggled through her nose, and Elijah looked at her with a frown. “Nothing,” she chortled, as Jefferson smacked her on the arm. “It’s just that the haberdasher here has been known to dabble in the medicinal. Say no if he offers you tea.”

Jefferson rolled his eyes, “That’s just a rumour,” he dismissed, with an elegant wave of his hand. “Neither you nor Sheriff Humbert can prove its veracity.”

Belle just shook her head, “You’re so full of shit.”

“I can’t imagine there’s a lot of business in Storybrooke for a boutique,” Elijah noted. Belle thought that if that line had come from anyone else, it might have sounded snide and dismissive. From Elijah Merlin, however, with his open, honest face and the earnestness that rolled off him in waves, it sounded polite, friendly and interested.

“Oh, you’d be surprised: there’s always hipsters coming through in their VW minivans looking for a rare buy. Storybrooke’s residents might be somewhat backward, but we’re hardly cut off from the world. And I do a roaring trade in stocking stuffers this time of year. My daughter Grace has her heart set on a set of Alice in Wonderland-themed bakery equipment I got in last week.”

“Oh yeah,” Belle grinned, remembering how long it had been since Jefferson had been to the library, “By the way, you’re looking at our Santa!”

“Really?” Jefferson’s eyebrows rose, and he ran his eyes appreciatively over Elijah, as if sizing him up for a Santa suit. “I can imagine you’re a big hit.”

“It’s good to volunteer over the holiday season,” Elijah agreed. “And the success of the grotto has been much appreciated. We’re raising a lot of money for the children.”

“I’m sure you are,” Jefferson’s voice lowered, and Belle saw Elijah’s lips part. An idea struck her, and she smiled to herself, looking up at the two of them with bright eyes.

“Oh, where are my manners?” she cried. “I should have introduced you!”

“Yes, you should,” Jefferson agreed. He looked Elijah straight in the eyes. “I’m Jefferson,” Jefferson smiled and extended his hand, and Belle saw the moment Elijah went weak at the knees with a smug smile. She’d done it: she’d actually found the one guy in town who could distract Elijah from missing Naomi. “I’ve seen you around.”

“Elijah,” Elijah shook Jefferson’s hand with a somewhat sly smile. “I’ve, ah, seen you too.”

“Have you now?” Jefferson all but purred, and Belle felt suddenly uncomfortable sandwiched between them, flirting madly and ignoring her entirely. She felt like a third wheel, and all this after she’d already been stood up by Gold. It wasn’t fair. Life would be so much easier, she thought, if she could just have a crush on either one of them. 

Unfortunately, it seemed her stubborn heart was set on the one man who wasn’t present tonight. Ebenezer Gold himself. Screw it, she thought: it was Christmas, she was drunk, and Gold was getting a piece of her mind.

“I’m off,” Belle announced, and Jefferson slid aside to let her scramble out, while Elijah watched her leave with panicked eyes. “I have to see a man about a bet.”

“Good luck!” Jefferson waved her up, looking glad to be rid of her, and she waved a hand in mock salute, and headed for the exit.

She staggered out of the bar, armed with her Dutch courage and her anger at being stood up two days before Christmas, and set off for the massive pink house where she knew Gold lived.

\---

He’d made it to the bar.

Gold was proud at least of that part: he had made it to the bar. He’d been unforgivably late – not his fault, since he’d been caught up bargaining with the Mayor about electricity costs of city-owned Christmas lights on buildings he owned – but he had shown up. He’d even stuck his head inside. Then he'd spotted Miss French and Dr Merlin on the other side of the room.

The good doctor’s hand had been wrapped in Belle’s pretty, slender fingers, and they’d been talking intimately, heads close together.

He hadn’t had to see anymore.

It didn’t matter, at any rate. It bothered him that he was still ruminating on it, when it was nothing at all to him. She was just a very kind young woman attempting to take pity on the town monster. He’d resolved himself not to take out whatever self-loathing anger and shame consumed him on her, not to punish her for such an act of kindness. Who could blame her, after all, for pursuing a young, handsome man over an old, twisted, crippled one?

He had more important things to think about, anyway. He needed to call Emma tomorrow and find out what to buy young Henry for Christmas. He needed to start running up the January rental accounts, taking into account any potential damage caused by bad festive lighting or eggnog-fuelled accidents. He wanted to make a list of the tenants whose displays had violated the covenants of their tenancy, and equally of those who had kept their disturbances to a minimum.

Mr Gold walked back to his house through the heavy snow, taking care on slippery streets with his cane, and let himself inside, making straight for the decanter of scotch. If he was going to bury himself in work to forget a woman, he could at least do it with alcohol. He limped to his study, and set out his paperwork and ledger in neat piles, glad to be focusing on something other than tumbling dark curls and bright blue eyes, shining for someone else.

He was startled out of his work an hour later by a thud against his window, and then another, and another, and then a cry of anger, and then another. He pulled the curtains aside, and then flinched as a snowball headed straight for the window, hitting the glass in front of his face. “Gold?” a voice shouted, a voice he knew well. “I know you’re in there!” she cried, and hurled another snowball at his windows, shocking him into action.

Gold marched to his front door and wrenched it open, surprise numbing his anger for a moment. First she invited him out to watch her flirt with another man, and now she was throwing snowballs at his home. “Miss French?” he demanded, and she turned to him, her chest heaving, her eyes bright and cheeks flushed, snowflakes caught in her tumbling dark hair.

“So you’re not dead, or sick, or somehow incapable of leaving the house.” She nodded, swallowing hard, a snowball still threatening in her bare hand. She stalked closer, her boots making tracks in the snow, and he wondered how the hell she hadn’t broken her neck in her wedge heels on the icy pavements. “You did stand me up!”

“You’re hurling snowballs at my house!” he cried. “Care to explain?”

“I’m angry!” she retorted, as if it wasn’t obvious. This close, he could see the glassiness of her eyes and the slight sway to her gait: she’d been drinking, then. Bloody perfect.

“You’re drunk,” he noted, his teeth gritted against his irritation, his confusion, and his unfortunate guilt. She shook her head. The streetlight gleamed off her hair, and a snowflake landed on her tiny nose.

“I’m buzzed,” she corrected. “Just enough to come here and tell you that you screwed up by not showing tonight.”

“It was my understanding you would not be left all alone,” he informed her. “I’m sure Dr Merlin was excellent company. I’d just have been a third wheel.”

“I invited you, and you said you’d come!” she cried. “If you didn’t want to see Eli you didn’t have to say yes!”

“It’s not my problem, Miss French, if you feel an unpleasant, elderly buffer zone between yourself and a prospective date,” he told her, coldly. “I apologise for your anger, but-“

“My date?” she scoffed, and he wanted to shake her for her insolence, or kiss her for her utter, undeniable beauty. He couldn’t choose, and the indecision made him nauseous. “Elijah? The guy I left making bedroom eyes at Jefferson Hatter not half an hour ago?”

“But… he was married,” Gold frowned, and Belle looked ready to hit him.

“You’ve heard of bisexuality, right?” she rolled her eyes. “Please don’t make me get the sock puppets.”

“I’m well aware of the concept, Miss French,” he snapped, finally deciding on overwhelming irritation versus helpless yearning. “There’s no need to be condescending.”

“There’s no need for you to jump to ridiculous conclusions!” she cried. "If you were worried I was already seeing someone, you could have just asked!"

They watched each other for a long moment, silence descending. Gold shivered in the cold, and considered marching inside, slamming the door and leaving her to her ramblings. Then he noticed something: she had only a very thin coat, no hat, scarf or gloves, and she was shaking. The snow had come quickly and without warning, the temperature dropping at sundown, and he imagined she hadn’t gone home since she’d dressed this morning.

She’d freeze to death on his front path: death by angry, drunken snowball. And she probably wasn’t even feeling it, due to the false warmth from the alcohol in her system.

“You came all this way to throw snowballs at my home, and you weren’t the least bit afraid of the consequences?” he asked, astounded. She shrugged.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she retorted. “If I were we wouldn’t be here.”

“You’re either very brave, or a total idiot,” he snapped. “Come inside, you’ll freeze out here.”

“Why do you care?” she demanded. He rolled his eyes.

“Because contrary to popular belief I don’t want a pretty young woman frozen to death on my front porch. Snowballs or no snowballs.”

“You think I’m pretty?” she asked, a bewitching smile gracing her red lips, her hands clenched before her, head cocked to one side. He sighed, defeated, and resigned himself to whatever ruin, heartbreak or humiliation, would befall him tonight in her company.

“If I say yes, will you come inside?”

“I’ll consider it,” she told him, but the chattering in her jaw told him otherwise.

“Then I think you’re beautiful,” he told her, uncomfortable with that honesty. Her eyes widened and her breath caught, as if he’d given her something precious, something special. As if it wasn’t obvious, a simple statement of fact; as if she cared what he thought of her. “Now come inside before you perish of hyperthermia.”

He was still amazed when, as he turned on his heel and marched inside, she followed obediently behind. She breathed a sigh of relief at the warmth when he lead her inside, and rubbed her hands together as he closed the door behind them. He could see her thin coat sticking to her, wet with the heavy snow, and her cheeks bright red with cold.

Without thinking too hard about it, he went into the living room and lit the fire, stoking it into a roaring flame. “Come here,” he beckoned her over to the fire, and she came gratefully, holding her hands over the flame.

“Elijah was right,” she murmured under her breath, and he frowned.

“About what?” he asked, puzzled, stepping back and away from her, trying not to let himself be drawn in by the intoxicating scent of her perfume, to watch the way her slender hands knotted and shook before the fire. Bracing himself for the body blow.

“You were scared,” she told him. “You didn’t come tonight because you were scared.”

“What?” he demanded, quietly, dangerously, his eyes narrowing. “What on earth gave you that idea?”

“I thought… I figured, if you didn’t want me, you’d be angry about the snowballs.”

“I am angry about the snowballs,” he pointed out. She just smiled and shook her head. Somehow, despite his best efforts, he had been drawn nearer to her, and he could see the droplets of melted snow clinging to her eyelashes. The heat of the fire was nothing compared to how warm he felt stood so near to her.

“If you didn’t want me, you’d have turned me away. Instead you let me inside. You wanted me here.”

“I wanted to not have a frozen corpse on my driveway,” he stipulated, wrenching himself away from her, pacing back into the centre of the room. Belle just watched him, her hands still warming before the fire, a patient look on her face, speculative.

“I think you were lonely,” she said, softly, and he felt his heart crack and splinter in his chest. He wanted to shake her now, to throw her from his home, to let her freeze in the snow. He wanted her to put her hands over his, her mouth to his, and warm him through and through.

“You were the one who noted my cold heart, dearie,” he half-snarled, half-begged, spreading his arms wide so she could take him in in all his meagre glory. “What use have I for company?”

She just smiled at him, cutting his defences to ribbons with her quiet understanding. She finally withdrew her hands from the fire, and folded them before her once more, watching him closely. “Any man would be lonely,” she told him. “Living the way you do. Knowing the price of anything, and the value of nothing. Watching people without touching them.”

“You’ve got keen eyes for a girl who spends half her life in books,” he snapped. “I think you’re warm enough now. I think you should leave.”

“Do you want me to leave, Mr Gold?” she asked, and as she stepped forward, toward him, he felt himself step back. He ran from her, and felt no compunction in doing so, allowing himself to be backed against the arm of his own sofa.

“Why didn’t you come to the bar tonight?” she asked, and he thought he would never understand her, this contradictory little woman, sunshine and sweetness one moment, anger and snowballs the next. And now, apparently, a third attitude: perceptive, quiet, soft and almost seductive.

“I… I did,” he admitted, shame and regret and confusion forcing the truth to spill from his lips. “I came to the bar, but I was later than you asked. I saw you and Dr Merlin close, holding hands, and I thought…”

“You thought I was with him,” Belle finished, her voice quiet as a breath. “So you ran.”

“I left you to it,” he told her, stiffly, trying to maintain the last of his dignity. “He’s a good man, and you’re… you’re kind and beautiful and clever. You deserve someone like him.”

“I don’t want someone like him,” she told him, her eyes shining bright in the firelight, her hands somehow having come to brace on his lapels.

She craned up in her heels, and Gold stood stock still with shock as her mouth met his, and she kissed him once, just once, a kiss so tentative and soft he could have wept for the tenderness of it. She pulled back a second later, and he was embarrassed by the yearning little noise that left his lips at the loss of her.

Belle looked up at him, brows drawn, concerned and watching him closely, trying to gauge his reaction. His mind caught up a moment later: Belle had kissed him, and she wasn’t chasing Elijah Merlin, and she didn’t seem angry anymore. Belle had kissed him. Belle had kissed him, and he was standing there gawping at her because he couldn’t believe his fortune.

He caught her about the waist, and kissed her deeply, catching her off guard and eliciting a delicious, warm noise of happy surprise from her lips. He pulled her close to him, and her hands found their way to his hair, weaving through the strands, almost petting him as he ravaged her mouth. He kissed her until she was breathless, gasping, and when he pulled back for air she followed him like a bud to sunlight, her mouth soft and swollen red with his kisses, her eyes dazed.

“I want you,” she told him, and although her actions had spoken for her it was an unparalleled joy to hear those words. He kissed her again, and again, warming her cold, damp body with his own until she was shaking in his arms for a different reason. He teased her mouth with his tongue, coaxing her lips apart and seeking her taste, her sensitive places, anything that would make her whimper and clutch him tighter. Now given permission to touch her, to kiss her, he couldn’t help himself: he plundered her, urged on by her hands fisted in his hair, and together they staggered until his calves hit the front of his armchair, and he sank down into it, pulling her down with him and into his lap.

“Hold on,” she laughed, evading his grasping hands and reaching for the toggles of her coat, “I’m warm enough, and this is soaked.”

As she pulled it from her slender shoulders and cast the garment aside, Gold’s jaw dropped open. She hadn’t changed from work. She wore the same red and green velvet costume, ridiculous and oddly enticing all at once, that she’d worn the day she’d crashed into her, and Gold couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“I’m sorry,” she said, casting a self-conscious eye over herself. “I was planning just to keep my coat on at the bar.”

“Don’t apologise,” he murmured, enraptured and worried about that very reaction. Belle gave a quizzical frown, and slid herself from his lap, standing before him in all her elven glory.

“You… like this, don’t you?” she asked, an odd smile on her lips even while her brow was knitted. “The costume?”

“I… I have little to enjoy about the festive season,” he told her.

“Hmmm,” she pursed her lips, and did a little twirl, the tiny skirt flaring to show an amazing amount of stocking-covered thigh. “So this is all about the holidays, then?”

“Of course,” he stammered, his face flushing. “You look… joyful: innocent and yet somehow knowing, and brave, I suppose. You always do but the costume…”

“It makes subtext into text,” Belle supplied, her own cheeks now flushed with something other than cold, staring at him.

“Exactly,” he nodded. “And,” he added, smiling just a little, “I’m a dirty old man, and I’m easily led astray by a beautiful young woman in a tiny dress.”

She laughed freely at that, although the speculation still hadn’t left her eyes, and returned to his lap, her legs slung horizontal over his. He held her to him happily, his feet warm by the fire, and tried not to feel like this was some sort of a spell, a winter miracle, and she a sprite who had come in the night and would vanish by morning.

“You didn’t stand me up because you didn’t want to see me?” she checked, the question utterly ridiculous with her nose nuzzling his throat, and he shook his head, baffled.

“I walked away for fear of rejection,” he replied, honestly, no reason at all now to lie. “And it was clearly a mistake.”

“Is that why you keep to yourself over the holidays?” Belle asked, curiously, and Gold felt his stomach clench with dread, knowing her bright mind would already be working over the details she had, seeking more. He considered the question.

“If I asked for company,” he said, slowly, “then, perhaps grudgingly, it would be provided to me.”

“Then why not ask?” she wondered. “No one wants to be alone over the holidays. Maybe you should just be brave and try to reach out?”

“Everyone has somewhere better to be than cooped up here in the dark with me,” he said, quietly. “I’d not force that fate upon anyone I cared enough for to spend the holidays with.”

“Who would you ask?” she asked, softly, thankful now for the low hum of the drink in her bones that spurred her to ask, to not hold back. “If you could?”

“My son,” Gold admitted. “I… he’s a man now, with a son of his own. I see them rarely and it’s… it is my own fault. And you. I’d like to be with you.”

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be right now,” Belle replied, gently, and for all it was a ridiculous sentiment, likely meaningless, simply pity for an old, lonely monster, Gold found himself grasping at her words with both hands. He grasped at her, his fingers bunching in her ridiculous elf costume, her mouth meeting his in a searing kiss, and he caressed and nibbled at her lips while his hand slid up her thigh, drawing her ever closer.

He hoped he hadn’t pushed too far, hadn’t taken her words too strongly and assumed too much, but his doubts were abated by her enthusiastic response. Belle moaned in the back of her throat and licked at his lips, drawing his tongue out and teasing at it, at the inside of his mouth, her hands carding through his hair once again to keep his mouth on hers.

Belle shifted in his lap, never breaking their kiss, and swung her leg over his hips to straddle him. She kissed him like the world was ending, and his hands roamed over her body: up her back, across her shoulders, down her ribs, cupping her backside. She moaned when he did that and ground down against him, and to his horror Gold felt himself hardening against her.

“We shouldn’t,” he wrenched his mouth from hers, and gasped out the words before he could regret them. “You’re drunk: you’ll regret it in the morning.”

“Hey,” she cupped his cheek and lifted his face to look at her, her fingertips caressing the corner of his jaw. “I was so upset about you not showing up, that I stormed to your house and hurled snowballs at your windows. And I promise you that had nothing to do with alcohol. I’ve…” she blushed, prettily, and smiled at him. “I’ve been wanting this, you, for months. Ever since you first came into the library. All I regret is that I owe Eli twenty bucks.”

“What for?” he asked, dazed by her, tucking a loose curl of her hair behind her ear. He cupped her cheek, and she nuzzled into it, pressing a kiss to the heel of his hand. His thumb traced the perfect, soft, red bow of her lower lip.

“He bet me you wanted me,” she told him. He laughed.

“Then you do owe him, sweetheart,” he said, stunned out of his wits that she seemed happy about that fact. “He was right.”

She kissed him again, joyfully, exultantly, and this time her hips ground down on him with reckless abandon, and he tried not to feel ashamed of how quickly he was hardening in his pants. He dared to slide his hands up her thighs, over her black tights, under her skirt and up to her hips. She encouraged him with a smile, as his mouth worked its way across her cheek to her jaw, nipping her and eliciting a gasp, before working its way down the smooth white column of her throat.

“You’re beautiful,” he rumbled into her skin, adoring the scratch of her nails on his scalp, how she trembled with every brush of his adoring lips. He sucked the skin into his mouth and bit her lightly, enough to form a bruise, before soothing it with his tongue. “So bright, so lovely.”

“If I’d known this would happen,” she gasped, as he nipped her again, this time lower down, having shifted the neck of her dress aside to find her collarbone. It would bruise, he’d leave her covered in love-bites, and she’d see them in the mirror and remember him. “I’d have shown up dressed like an elf weeks ago.”

“It’s not the costume,” he promised her, his eyes meeting hers earnestly, “It’s you. It’s all you.”

“This?” she asked, her voice a soft purr, as her hand snaked between them and cupped him in his pants. He let out a helpless groan and his eyes fluttered closed, as she squeezed him lightly, as if fascinated by his reaction to her. “This is all me?”

“Yes,” he agreed, a frantic note entering his voice. “Yes, all for you. Sweet Belle, lovely, pretty, clever Belle.”

She kissed him again, stifling his litany of compliments with her mouth, and he found the boldness to slide his hand into her tights and press up, to cup and tease between her legs through her knickers. Belle went still, her thighs trembling, her head lolling, as he rubbed over her core. She was damp, he noted, stunned: she was wet for him.

“Off,” she gasped, her hands flying to her tights, standing to scramble out of them. “I need… please…”

He nodded urgently, wishing then that he was able-bodied, young and strong, and capable of catching her up in his arms and carrying her to bed. Belle deserved a bed, and the thought of her spread out on his sheets made him even harder. But instead, his hands went to his belt, loosening it fast and then working on his flies, opening the button to allow himself some much-needed freedom.

She was out of her tights, and he took in the expanse of her bare legs with a dry mouth. She reached behind her for the zipper to her dress, but he stopped her, “No,” he murmured. “Leave it on?”

Belle smiled slyly, looking far more confident in bare feet and a Christmas elf dress than she had any right to. “I thought it wasn’t about the costume?” she asked, archly.

“I want to save something for when I can have you spread out on my bed,” he grinned, and was deeply gratified when her eyes went dark and her breath caught, her legs shaking.

She crawled into his lap again, straddling his thighs, and a sure hand reached into his flies and drew him out, hot and hard in her hand.

He kissed her to hide his gasping, his shaking, how very long it had been since he’d been with a woman. She shifted forward on the chair, her knees bracketing his hips, and her hand left him to be replaced by warm, wet flesh. He groaned low in his throat, and his hand slid down from her hip and between her legs, to slide between her folds and tease her. He found her nub and rubbed it between two fingers, as Belle whimpered and keened, her folds only growing wetter with her need. Gold could hardly believe it: this marvellous creature, this unbelievable woman, was gushing into his hand and moaning, and all for him.

“Please, please, Gold…” she panted, her hooded eyes fixed on his, and he found himself needing something more.

“Abraham,” he begged, “My name is Abraham.”

She nodded, her eyes wide as if he’d given her a precious gift, something far rarer and more special than just his given name. “Abraham,” she breathed, and he almost shattered then and there from hearing his name laden with desire on her lips. “Please.”

He nodded, unable to resist any longer and convinced she was ready, and lined them up, teasing her entrance just a little with the head of his cock. Slowly, gently, he eased his way into her, and she gasped and shook as he filled her. she took him all the way in, until her hips were flush with his, and his arms came around her as she buried her head in his shoulder.

The sensation of Belle’s hot, wet walls clenched around him would have been enough to finish Gold on the spot, but he grit his teeth, unwilling to leave her unsatisfied. His fingers found her folds again, wet and sticky with her juices, as he withdrew just a little and then rocked up back inside her, eliciting another whimper. Belle soon caught his rhythm, and with her hands braced on his shoulders, she rose up as he withdrew, and plunged down as he thrust up. She rode him hard and deep, setting up a wonderful rhythm, and words were lost to him in the sensation of her channel working around him, her slippery nub and wet folds on his fingers, and her kisses on his mouth.

She was growing close, he could feel it, her folds fluttering around him, and he worked her clit hard with his fingertips, pounding up into her as he kissed her deeply. “So beautiful,” he whispered as they parted. “Beautiful Belle.”

“You don’t think this is… ohhh...” a low moan interrupted her words, and it was a moment before she caught the thought again, “A bit strange, having… having sex with an elf?”

“I don’t know,” he grunted, thrusting up into her harder and deeper than before, making her gasp, “I’ve said ‘fuck Christmas’ often enough. This is… this is better than I could have dreamed.”

She laughed, breathy and startled, and the sound vibrated through her, shaking her walls and making him cry out and lose all thought for a moment.

“You’re so beautiful,” he groaned, knowing how she loved words, hoping it could be enough to finish her before he did. “After this… after this I’m going to take you upstairs… ravish you… make you scream for me…”

“Oh, god…” she groaned, and he licked and bit at her earlobe.

“I’m gonna bury my face between your legs,” he continued, punctuating every third word with a thrust of his cock inside her, a twist of his fingers to her nub, “Drink you down until you forget your name…”

“Abraham,” she gasped, shaping, “Abraham!”

“That’s it,” he encouraged, picking up the pace, pounding into her, “That’s it, scream for me darling, scream…”

“Abraham!” she shouted, and he felt as her walls shook and clenched around him like a vice, as her hips bucked helplessly and her head was thrown back, breathing hard, her climax tearing through her. Gold let himself let go a second later, following her over that blessed peak, the pleasure so intense he thought he’d go cross-eyed from it, spending himself inside her with a low, unstoppable groan.

They sat there for a long time, boneless and shaking, sweat cooling and drying in the firelight, her velvet dress rumpled and hair mussed, and Gold expected to awaken, sticky and unhappy, any moment. When he did not; when she let him draw her to her feet and lead them both to his bedroom; when he was able to make good on the promises he’d made in the heat of the moment; Gold counted himself the luckiest of men.

A few hours later, Belle was asleep in his bed, satiated and exhausted, and Gold, prouder and happier than he’d been in years to have thoroughly pleasured such an amazing woman, found himself pulling his cell phone from his pocket.

“You’ve made me brave,” he murmured, looking down at the beautiful, impossible creature asleep in his bed. “Imagine that.”

\---

She couldn’t believe it.

Belle checked her phone again, hoping like hell it would show a new message, a mixed call, anything to retract the text she was seeing in black and white.

Didn’t go home last night and am still in bed ;) idk when I’ll be in. Very very very sorry. Please try to find a replacement if possible.

On the one hand, this was excellent news: Elijah and – presumably – Jefferson had apparently hit it off stunningly well, and Belle was happy for them both. Since she was still naked and stretched out in the crimson expanse of Gold’s bed, she could hardly judge anyway.

But she was getting up. She was going to change at home, and then go to the library and open up. She, unlike Elijah, remembered what goddamn day it was.

Christmas eve. The busiest day of the year for any festive attraction, and she was now minus a Santa.

Can’t believe ur doing this to me!

His reply was rapid and apologetic, but unhelpful: I’m so, so, so sorry :( :( I’ll come in later! Just cover for me for a few hours??? Will be very grateful, thanks!!!

Belle sighed, and ran a hand through her messy hair. The Mayor would flay her alive if she bailed on the Santa grotto on Christmas Eve, even just for a few hours, especially after the fuss she’d made about being allowed to run it in the first place. And she clearly couldn’t be Santa – she was too small, too young, and entirely too female.

She sighed, and slumped down into the pillows. She’d woken up alone, but sounds and delicious smells from downstairs had indicated that Gold was already up and making breakfast. A morning person, then: she hadn’t figured that, but it made sense. She’d been about to go and investigate when she’d discovered Elijah’s betrayal, and been distracted trying to fix it. She had wanted to wake up in Abraham’s arms, but she hoped there would be more opportunities for that later.

In her mind, she started casting through the men she knew in town, anyone who could be bullied, bribed or browbeaten into helping her out. Archie Hopper was a possibility, except she knew for a fact he’d say no due to his professional medical relationship to many of Storybrooke’s children. Jefferson and Elijah were obviously both out of the running. Billy would have to work, and while Elijah had uncommonly old eyes and a way with children, Billy was only just out of college and would never make a convincing Santa Claus, and Michael was only nineteen and running the pharmacy.

There was one other option: the man currently downstairs making her breakfast. He was old enough, certainly, and clever enough to think on his feet. And he’d told her last night that he had a son and a young grandson, so she knew he had to have some experience with children.

He was also the town monster, and he guarded his privacy and his dignity closely. She knew he liked her, he’d proven that over and over last night. But it was one thing to sleep with someone: it was quite another to agree to bail them out of a bad situation involving a Santa suit.

All she could do was ask: the worst he could do was say no, and put her back where she started. He wouldn’t cast her out for such a request, and if he did he wasn’t the man she thought he was.

Resolved to this plan, she nodded to herself and hunted for her clothes. She found his shirt, expensive, soft and claret red, and then remembered her clothes were her elf costume. Probably better to wear the shirt downstairs, and save the traumatised dress for later, when she’d need it. She slid the shirt on over her shoulders, and was embarrassed for herself when she buried her nose in the collar, and smiled as she inhaled his scent. He smelled of woodsmoke and cinnamon, and a musky, clean cologne, and she knew she’d never get enough of it.

She padded down the stairs, through the doorway and into the kitchen. He was beautiful in the morning, all rumpled hair and sleepy smile, still in his pyjamas and flipping pancakes with one hand. He eyed her as if she were something miraculous and unbelievable, an angel fallen into his kitchen, and managed one word, belatedly, through slack lips, “Hey.”

“Hey,” she smiled back, unable to help herself. She came closer to him, and leaned on the counter while he turned his attention back to their breakfast. “Sleep well?” she teased, and he chuckled, a warm and throaty sound that warmed her through and through.

“Barely a wink,” he teased back. “And yet, I feel more refreshed than I have in months.”

“Me too,” she confided. “I… I really enjoyed last night, Abraham. Thank you for letting me stay over.”

“The sight of you in that shirt would be worth surrendering my whole bed,” he told her, and she blushed all over. He smiled slowly, running his eyes over her until she shivered, and she knew he noticed how the shirt barely covered her backside, riding up and exposing a large amount of thigh, and she’d buttoned it only loosely, the open neck hinting at the flesh beneath.

She couldn’t think of anything to say in response, her mind blank and breathing shallow, and so she let her actions speak louder and hauled him in for a slow, deep kiss. He returned it ardently, willingly, as her hands curled in his hair and he caressed her lips with his, her toes curling at the sweet sensation.

She pulled back a while later, settling back on her heels. “You’ll burn the pancakes,” she joked. He stared at her for a moment as if she’d spoken Mandarin, before catching on and turning back to the hob with an embarrassed shake of his head.

“Well,” he grumbled, “if you will knock me for six every chance you get.”

“Do you have anything to do today?” she asked, casually, meandering around the counter to the breakfast bar and settling herself on a stool. He plated up three pancakes, and added three rashers of bacon, bringing them to her with a flourish. He snickered as she doused them in maple syrup, coating the whole plate.

“Aside from watching you fall into a diabetic coma?” he asked, grinning. “No. The shop is closed now until after Boxing Day, so I’m at your disposal.”

The hope in his eyes, glimmering and bright, so yearning and so vulnerable, broke her heart. She knew he had no one else in town, really, to spend time with. No one he was close to: no family, no close friends, no one but her. He wanted to spend Christmas Eve with her, and she wanted the same thing.

“Would you mind spending the day with me?” she asked, cautiously. “I mean, I have to work, but…” she shoved a mouthful of pancake, bacon and syrup into her mouth, and moaned with delight. “Gods above, these are incredible.”

“Thank you,” he preened at her praise. “I’m glad you enjoy them. And, ah, no,” he smiled a little shyly and her heart melted, “I wouldn’t mind that at all. nothing would please me more, in fact.”

“Me neither,” she beamed, and they shared a warm, happy moment, just smiling at one another like lovesick idiots. Then she sighed, remembering her problem. “There’s just one problem: I still have to run the grotto today, and it’ll be busy.”

“I can come by and see you after,” he offered, immediately. “It’s no trouble.”

“And Elijah bailed on me,” she continued, sighing as her mind returned to the problem at hand. “He had a lot of fun last night, and isn’t apparently home yet. So I have no Santa, half of Storybrooke’s kids, and if I don’t pull this off the Mayor will slash my funding from here to kingdom come.”

“Do you have a reserve?” he asked. She shook her head.

“It was hard enough convincing Eli to do it, and now he’s out I’m sort of screwed.”

He thought for a moment, as she ate, and she could all but hear the cogs in his clever mind turning, seeking a solution. And then, as if it were written on his forehead, Belle saw he’d come to the same conclusion she had.

“I…” he took a deep breath, and looked her in the eye, clearly steeling himself to say whatever he needed to say. “I could make you a deal.”

“Oh?” she raised an eyebrow, and he nodded.

“I… I need to decorate my home for the holidays. I have some guests coming tonight, and I’d like it to look, well, festive.”

“You have guests coming?” she asked, intrigued, pleased by the idea that he’d not be alone over the holiday. “You said last night…”

“I… I thought about what you said, and I reached out. So now, I need a Christmas tree, lights, tinsel, and whatever else it is happy people put up this time of year. So I’ll make you a deal.”

“I’ll help no matter what,” she promised, all but bouncing in her seat. “Decorating’s the best!”

“Hear me out,” he smiled, holding up a hand. “Help me decorate, and in return I’ll…” he swallowed, hard, stealing himself. “I’ll play your Santa, until the earliest moment Dr Merlin can get his arse in gear.”

“I…” her heart raced, her astonishment and gratitude so strong it almost overwhelmed her, and she just gaped at him, grinning and amazed. “Yes, yes, please!” she cried. “I… oh Abraham, thank you so much! She stood and ran around the counter, and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him close. he hugged her back as if amazed himself by her response, and they stood there for long minutes, hugging tight and beaming.

And that was how, four hours and one purchased Christmas tree later, Belle found herself back in her now somewhat sullied elf costume in the library, with a very different Santa behind her.

She’d rigged it now so that there was a barrier between Santa and the children, so that no one would know it wasn’t Elijah until they came through. Most of the children, like little Leo Nolan, or Alexandra Boyd, on the arms of their parents, hadn’t been before and wouldn’t know the difference. She did balk a little, however, when she saw Roland Locksley at the back of the long line, this time holding his mother Marion’s hand. If anyone would bust them, it’d be him.

“And what’s your name, young man?” she heard Gold ask, and out of sheer curiosity she peered around to watch. There was a lull in the foot traffic, and if Belle turned and looked through the stacks she had a full view of the grotto, and of the man himself sat on his throne.

At first glance, Gold looked utterly ridiculous. For one thing, the only Santa suit at hand had been Elijah’s, and where Eli was tall and broad, Gold was small and slight. He was drowning in the red velvet fabric, only saved by the cushions they’d hastily shoved down his front for padding. His face was almost entirely hidden by his heavy hood and the thick white beard, which was a saving grace: how most of these parents would feel having their evil landlord talking to their children, Belle had no idea.

When he worked at the children, though, all of those concerns melted away. Belle watched as little Philip Dormer smiled up at Gold with a wide, toothy grin, and announced, “Phil!”

Gold’s eyes were smiling as he gently held Philip on his lap, and she saw his mother Aurora smiling to the side. Belle felt a pang of sympathy for the young woman: twenty-four, and already a widow and a mother to a precocious four-year-old. Belle had helped her once or twice to find books on nursing to help with her community college studies, and she knew Aurora found the little play area that the grotto had subsumed to be a godsend when she needed to distract her small son and do some reading. Belle was glad to see Philip so amused by Gold’s Santa-act, and Aurora looking so relaxed.

“And what do you want for Christmas?” Gold asked, and Philip beamed.

Philip clammed up a little, but he relaxed with his mother’s hand on his small shoulder, “Go on, Phil,” she coaxed, gently. “Tell Santa what you want.”

The boy murmured something Belle couldn’t hear, and her heart melted when Gold listened very closely, and nodded, taking the boy’s words seriously. “Optimus Prime, you say?” he checked, and the boy nodded. “Well, we can probably work on that, don’t you think?”

“I think so, Santa,” Aurora agreed, smiling. “Just a toy one, though. The apartment isn’t big enough for the real thing.”

“Save the big robots for when you’re older, eh lad?” Gold joked, and Philip nodded, very seriously. “Until then, how about a present from the North Pole?”

Belle stiffened: he’d been doing this for forty-five minutes before she’d had this chance to eves-drop, but she knew for a fact that they’d run out of child-friendly surplus books yesterday: Roland had taken the last one.

She watched as something soft, squishy, professionally-wrapped and very clearly not one of her books was handed to Philip, who squealed with delight. “Thank you Santa!” he cried, and Aurora nodded her own thanks as they left.

“Hey,” Aurora greeted her on their way out, knocking Belle out of her musings about where the hell those gifts were coming from. “I thought you had Dr Merlin as Santa this year. Who’s that?”

“Eli’s coming later,” Belle told her, “He just got a little… tied up, this morning. So I asked a friend of mine to step in. I’m keeping an eye on it, don’t worry.”

“Well, whoever he is, he’s great,” Aurora grinned. Belle beamed, pleased, and nodded.

“I’ll pass that along,” she agreed. “Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas to you too,” Aurora smiled back, “Oh, hey, you coming to Granny’s thing tomorrow? It’s gotten really big, I think everyone in town who doesn’t have a whole big family’s coming.”

“Probably, yes,” Belle said. “I might… I might be bringing my friend. Would Granny be okay with that, do you think?”

Aurora laughed, “She bought the biggest turkey in Maine, and has made enough trimmings and sides to feed the whole state,” she said. “I think you’re good.”

“Thanks,” Belle smiled, relieved, and hoping the invitation wouldn’t be rescinded the moment she showed up with Gold in tow. He was a good Santa: she’d seen a steady stream of happy kids come through, and no one had yet recognised him or complained. She hoped that, at least, would work in his favour. “See you then.”

“See you then!” Aurora smiled, and ruffled Philip’s hair.

With no one left at the desk, Belle decided to go check on Gold. He was relaxed in his chair, taking a breath before the next kid. Belle had checked the list, and it was a name she didn’t recognise – Henry Swan. But then, there were plenty of people in Storybrooke she’d never met, and some of them had to have kids.

“Where did you get these gifts?” she asked, gesturing to the sack at Gold’s side. He just winked at her around the beard.

“I own a number of factories, one of them made stuffed animals. A few weeks ago they went into administration, and I was saddled with a great deal of surplus stock, pre-wrapped for the holidays. This seemed a good fit.” He narrowed his eyes. “You weren’t at all surprised this morning when we stopped at the docks?”

“I thought the boxes were decorations in storage,” she murmured. He shook his head. She allowed impulse to take over and threw her arms around his neck, “That was a very nice thing to do,” she told him, her voice muffled in his neck. He held her close for a moment, and she felt warm through and through.

“You want to stay for the next one?” he asked. “I could use someone to step in when I want to threaten a parent.”

She giggled to herself. “Sure,” she shrugged. “I’ll be security elf.”

He winked at her again, and then called “Next!”

A small family came shuffling in: a tall blonde woman, a small boy with dark hair and wide eyes, and a tall man in a Christmas sweater.

Gold gaped at the lot of them, his eyes wide and almost fearful, as if he’d seen a ghost. Belle’s stomach clenched: what had happened? Who were these people?”

“Neal?” he stammered. The man started.

“I… papa?!”

Gold wrenched off his beard and stared at the man before him, “What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded, “You were supposed to be here at four, not one!”

“The traffic was light,” the woman beside Neal supplied. “We thought we’d let Henry meet Santa… what the hell are you doing here?”

“What’s happening?” Belle asked, putting a hand on Gold’s shoulder. “Who are these people?”

“Belle,” Gold said, keeping his eyes on the man – Neal, according to Gold’s shout – and his voice low and controlled. “Allow me to introduce my son, Neal, his wife Emma, and their son Henry.”

“Your son?” she stammered, staring at the man before her, “But didn’t you say-“

“I said I had company coming this evening,” he reminded her. “I didn’t expect them to be here so soon.”

“Oh,” Belle murmured, guilt flooding through her. Their first Christmas Eve together in years, and she’d ruined it.

“Dad?” the boy looked up at Neal with his brow drawn in confusion. “Why is grandpa dressed as Santa?”

“That’s a good question, Henry,” Emma agreed. “Why are you dressed as Santa?”

“We had another volunteer,” Belle assured them, hastily. “But he was indisposed this morning. So, ah, Abraham stepped in. He’s been very good!” she added.

“How much is she paying you?” Neal demanded, and Gold frowned at him.

“She’s helping me decorate for your arrival, and in return I’m doing this.”

“I’m sorry,” Neal turned to Belle. “For whatever he’s holding over you. My father has ways.”

“I ah, it’s no trouble,” Belle smiled, trying to work out whether she should tell them about her relationship to Gold. On the other hand, she didn’t know if there was a relationship to tell about: they’d only slept together for one night. “It’s what friends do for one another.”

“If you’re taking advantage of her, papa, whatever you’re holding over her…”

“Neal,” Gold murmured, “exactly what kind of deal do you think I’d make that would involve this costume?”

Neal thought for a moment, his eyes widening. “Oh my god,” he murmured. “You did this willingly.” He shook his head, looking down, and his shoulders began to shake. Belle wondered for a moment if for some reason he was angry, and if she would have to break up a physical fight in a moment.

Then he raised his head, and Belle saw tears in his eyes, and a howl of laughter escaped his throat. “Oh, God, papa,” he laughed. “Oh my god, if you wanted Christmas that badly you only had to ask. This is a cry for help!”

“It’s a favour for a friend,” Gold stipulated, but his grumbling was half-hearted at best. Neal nodded, still laughing, while Emma and Henry just gaped at the two of them like they’d lost their minds.

“Could we ah, do this somewhere else?” Emma asked, worriedly. “I think we’re destroying the illusion for the other kids.”

“I can take over,” Elijah’s voice came from over Belle’s shoulder. He’d found a spare Santa suit in the back, and held out his hand for the beard. "You, apparently, owe me twenty dollars."

Belle rolled her eyes, but reached into her pocket wordlessly and handed over the money.

“Santa!” Henry cried, and Belle wondered if it was possible to die from sheer holiday madness. Elijah grinned and waved.

"If this is Santa," Emma murmured, "he's younger than I pictured."

Elijah gave her a crooked grin from around his beard,"Lets just say that eternal life at the North Pole is good for your skin."

“Thank God,” Gold muttered, and willingly relinquished the chair, taking off both beard and hood and finally looking like himself. They stepped away, and Eli settled incalled for the next kid to come through as the five of them walked back into the stacks, away from the assembled families. “Belle, this is my son Neal,” Gold introduced, formally. “Neal, this is my… this is my Belle.”

Belle blushed and smiled, something very warm and sweet in the way he’d said that, and Neal had clearly caught it too, because his eyebrows rose.

“You’re dating someone?” he demanded of Gold. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“In our once-monthly phone call, between Henry’s schooling and your polite questions about my health?” Gold asked, a little testily. “No, I didn’t.”

Neal looked like he was about to sulk, like a little kid, until Emma put her hand on his shoulder and held the other one out to Belle. “It’s very nice to meet you,” she said, smoothly.

Henry gave her a worried look, “Why are you dressed like an elf if you’re grandpa’s friend?”

“I’m helping out the real Santa,” Belle explained. “The one who just came and took over. Your grandpa was just helping out so Santa could sleep in,” she leaned down, and explained confidentially. “He had to sleep in, because he has to fly all over the world tonight.”

Henry nodded, that explanation making sense. “Can grandpa come with us now?” he asked. “Dad said we were coming to see him this year before we go to Grandma Ingrid’s.”

“Oh yes, grandpa can come with us,” Neal agreed, having finally stopped laughing. “If he wears the Santa suit for the rest of the day.”

“You’re an unkind boy,” Gold muttered. Neal just grinned.

“Does that mean I’m on the naughty list this year?” he asked. “Oh, have you checked it twice already? Oh, oh! What did Rudolph say when you told him you were driving to work today?”

“Ignore him,” Emma advised them, as Gold glowered. “The rest of us do.”

Neal kept coming up with more and more Santa-themed jokes, following Gold to the makeshift changing area in the office behind the library. Belle caught the smile on Gold’s lips even as he chided his son at every turn, and couldn't stifle a grin.

She had, apparently, done what elves are supposed to do: she’d helped perform a Christmas miracle.

“So much for bah humbug,” she smiled to herself.


End file.
